Free Luzo: Reign of a Mafia Don by S. W. Frank Page A

donna wholeheartedly. He had tried to change…many times he failed.
    They entered the huge room where gents in tux, ladies in expensive gowns danced and talked. Circular tables in a U formation allowed for dancing and a view of the musicians in their finery as well.
    Money was in everything, even the haughtiness of the donnas and the conceited Dons. He had expected this type of affair, with diamonds adorning exposed necks or pearls. Never envy another’s wealth. Do not believe you are lesser because you do not have a golden coffer. The thickness of a money clip does not measure self-worth, are what his parents taught. But, to move in the circle of elitist, arrogance is needed, for that is how he had to deal with social climbers to learn the truth about who killed his family. Eventually, someone talked. Braggarts name drop. They must feel important when they are not.
    Gina Bocelli had taken a seat and was engaged in conversation with Umberto Cigliari and his wife when she spied the dapper guest advancing in their direction. She dismissed the homely girl holding the arm of the strikingly handsome uomo. She hid her interest by laughing at a joke by the hostess. As the couple halted at the table, Gina’s breath became shallow by the beauty of the dark Sicilian. His hair was as thick and black as tar but with a shimmer of a night ocean. Sharp cheekbones on a masculine face were a donna’s envy. The piercing blue eyes had settled on her and she received the honor of his dimpled smile after thanking the host and hostess. He had begun speaking to her, mesmerized; Gina heard nothing and missed the introduction.
    Like a simpleton she muttered. “Buongiorno Signore.”
    “It is a pleasure to meet you Signora Bocelli, this is Signora Meza,” Luzo said and she blushed stupidly. He was making an introduction and she had not heard his name she was so enamored.
    “Grazie…grazie,” she replied when Luzo’s lips pursed closed. Her mind was on the gentle pucker of his mouth that promised a lady a night of succulent kisses.
    Umberto Cigliari rose, gestured to a waiter who hurried over. “Make certain to bring the donnas anything they want,” he said and then asked Helena’s permission to steal her escort for a moment.
    “Certainly,” Helena answered.
    “Please Signora Meza, you must sit with us,” Don Cigliari’s wife said magnanimously.
    Like a gentleman Luzo held the seat aloft for Helena. The swath of silk was drawn to the side by dainty hands of his shy companion. She had a look of astonishment that she was to share a table with a well-respected financier’s wife and socialite.
    Inwardly, Luzo smiled. Helena was from the quaint province of Caccamo who he met days ago in the market. She was kind and sweet, somewhat reserved, but pleasant company. When he had asked her to dinner, he had to receive permission from her father, which is expected when an unmarried donna resides at home.
    When Luzo arrived to pick her up today , the entire clan, two brothers, three sisters, an aunt, parents and elders were assembled for an Italian inquisition. After an hour, he passed the family’s inspection and Helena finally appeared.
    She looked lovely, except her attire was too plain, and inappropriate for a formal affair. He complimented her; that is respectful to do. Manners are always practiced; women are sensitive to these platitudes.
    Once they were underway, he made a detour to a shop and as tactful as possible chose the gown she now wore. He also purchased the shoes, necklace and asked the more experienced female shopkeeper to apply her make-up properly.  This Helena appeared more sophisticated and unlike a twenty-one year old child.
    Luzo sat as the band played a romantic ballad. Although, Helena was nice he would never see her again, she was far too awestruck. Besides, he did not want problems with her brothers or a gun to his head as he marched up an aisle of a church.
    That is never good.
    “Come,” Cigliari said as he walked